You don't sleep well in the hospital. Have I mentioned this?? It was so wonderful to come home and sleep in my own bed Thursday night. I kept pushing the nurses to get me out as soon as possible. One fun nurse says, "Why? Do you have a hot date?" Obviously not, but one is happy to do anything but sit in the hospital getting chemo.
Despite being in my own bed, I didn't sleep really well the next few nights. I have to take the "rescue" drug every six hours, so this time it was 7 and 2. Seven am then 1 pm, 7 around dinner then 1 in the morning. You know how you don't sleep well when you have to get up for something important ... like catching a plane, or a big morning meeting, or running a marathon (I'm thinking of a Seinfeld episode where the guy misses the marathon because of an AM PM problem with his alarm.). Well, I think I was having alarm anxiety and couldn't get a good night's sleep.
But Chris held me in bed, which makes me feel happy and warm and safe. And Mommy doted on me, and did the errands and the laundry and all the wonderful things only Mommies can do. I don't like the hospital days. I would rather been in the Chemo Lounge with Kristin and all my friends. But I had worked myself into an anxious tizzy before the hospital admission. So at least now I know it's not that bad.
Dorothy did have it right: there's no place like home.
Friday, October 19, 2012
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Let's Do This
It's on. It took a little while to get "on" - but the chemo is dropping and will continue for 24 hours.
Mom is here. chris came to visit in between each case in the OR. It felt like a nice treat when he walked in the door. Marcia was here for several hours. The several hours while we had to wait for chemo to bed dropped off at the hospital. That's a story for later.
I'm trying to make this as much like going to the Chemo Lounge as possible. So I'm trying to sit in the BarcaLounger a lot rather than being stuck in the hospital bed. I miss Kristen and my chemo friends, but having Mommy all these hours is such a blessing. She took the picture below.
I'm wearing the great, bright pj's Marcia bought me - the top anyway. It's embarrassing to say I'm not wearing the bottoms because Barlie ate the crotch out of them. Classy, right??
Trying to drink a lot of water and take the anti-nauseau meds. Now we're going to try to get some sleep. Lots more to report but it will have to wait until tomorrow!
Much love!!!
Mom is here. chris came to visit in between each case in the OR. It felt like a nice treat when he walked in the door. Marcia was here for several hours. The several hours while we had to wait for chemo to bed dropped off at the hospital. That's a story for later.
I'm trying to make this as much like going to the Chemo Lounge as possible. So I'm trying to sit in the BarcaLounger a lot rather than being stuck in the hospital bed. I miss Kristen and my chemo friends, but having Mommy all these hours is such a blessing. She took the picture below.
I'm wearing the great, bright pj's Marcia bought me - the top anyway. It's embarrassing to say I'm not wearing the bottoms because Barlie ate the crotch out of them. Classy, right??
Trying to drink a lot of water and take the anti-nauseau meds. Now we're going to try to get some sleep. Lots more to report but it will have to wait until tomorrow!
Much love!!!
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Is This What Rock Bottom Feels Like?
To be honest, it's not rock bottom. Things could be worse. They could always be worse. I could be dead. But I'm not. I'm alive and kicking. I'll be kicking and screaming tomorrow as I head back to chemotherapy.
So about that hysterectomy. It was the right choice, certainly at the time, with the information we had at the time. But it turns out there wasn't any cancer in there. The doctors in Boston did their job. But then the bloodwork was bad. It went up. Again. I feel like it always goes up. We weighed our options carefully. I cried a ton and then we settled on more chemo.
There is still cancer somewhere in my body. We don't know where. That - to me - is the scariest part. I feel like we are playing hide and go seek with cancer somewhere inside my person. We think it's in the lungs. Dr. Evans says history has a way of repeating itself. I had mets to the lungs both times before. It's just that the blood was 35 and that's too little to see on the PET scan or any scan for that matter. So again, we were faced with a choice. Wait and let cancer grow for a little bit, maybe a month and then see if it gets big enough to see on a scan. At least then you will know where it is. Or, start chemo immediately without giving the fucker a chance to grow at all. We chose the latter. I feel fine with that choice. I don't know if I'll still feel fine with it tomorrow.
My dad left yesterday. My mom arrived today. It's been wonderful to have my family around while I wallow. Mommy and I are heading to the hospital bright and early to be admitted for chemotherapy. You remember the Chemo Lounge, right? The fun, bright, almost cheery room full of recliners and friends? Yeah, I can't have chemo there this time. Well at least every other week. I'm being booted to the hospital for an overnight stay because the methotrexate needs to drip for 12 straight hours. Dr. Evan's Chemo Lounge is open a normal, respectable 8 or 9 hours. But 12 is too much. The women there have lives and families and have to eventually go home. I can't just set up shop there permanently (although I would like that.) So off to the hospital with me.
I feel like I had the Chemo Lounge licked. I actually enjoyed being there. I thought I had a good routine going. So to be sent to the hospital for a Wed-Thurs infusion is a total disappointment. I'm anxious about it because I don't know how it's going to go. I'm worried it won't be as smooth or relaxful. I'm sad I won't be able to see all my fellow patients and friends and kabitz about the latest anti-nauseau tricks. The hospital will definitely be different. But I'm sure it will be fine. Mommy and I are going to give it our best shot tomorrow. We're hoping for the best.
It's going to be a few more months of this. While I thought Labor Day might have been the end and I was worried about a firm "finish line" - now I won't complain at all. If there's no formal finish line and I just quietly slip from the Cancer column to the Cancer-free column, that's fine by me. I just really want to be Cancer-free. And sooner rather than later.
Wish us luck. Will update as I can.
p.s. - my spell check isn't working correctly, so now you get to see how poorly I spell without help!
So about that hysterectomy. It was the right choice, certainly at the time, with the information we had at the time. But it turns out there wasn't any cancer in there. The doctors in Boston did their job. But then the bloodwork was bad. It went up. Again. I feel like it always goes up. We weighed our options carefully. I cried a ton and then we settled on more chemo.
There is still cancer somewhere in my body. We don't know where. That - to me - is the scariest part. I feel like we are playing hide and go seek with cancer somewhere inside my person. We think it's in the lungs. Dr. Evans says history has a way of repeating itself. I had mets to the lungs both times before. It's just that the blood was 35 and that's too little to see on the PET scan or any scan for that matter. So again, we were faced with a choice. Wait and let cancer grow for a little bit, maybe a month and then see if it gets big enough to see on a scan. At least then you will know where it is. Or, start chemo immediately without giving the fucker a chance to grow at all. We chose the latter. I feel fine with that choice. I don't know if I'll still feel fine with it tomorrow.
My dad left yesterday. My mom arrived today. It's been wonderful to have my family around while I wallow. Mommy and I are heading to the hospital bright and early to be admitted for chemotherapy. You remember the Chemo Lounge, right? The fun, bright, almost cheery room full of recliners and friends? Yeah, I can't have chemo there this time. Well at least every other week. I'm being booted to the hospital for an overnight stay because the methotrexate needs to drip for 12 straight hours. Dr. Evan's Chemo Lounge is open a normal, respectable 8 or 9 hours. But 12 is too much. The women there have lives and families and have to eventually go home. I can't just set up shop there permanently (although I would like that.) So off to the hospital with me.
I feel like I had the Chemo Lounge licked. I actually enjoyed being there. I thought I had a good routine going. So to be sent to the hospital for a Wed-Thurs infusion is a total disappointment. I'm anxious about it because I don't know how it's going to go. I'm worried it won't be as smooth or relaxful. I'm sad I won't be able to see all my fellow patients and friends and kabitz about the latest anti-nauseau tricks. The hospital will definitely be different. But I'm sure it will be fine. Mommy and I are going to give it our best shot tomorrow. We're hoping for the best.
It's going to be a few more months of this. While I thought Labor Day might have been the end and I was worried about a firm "finish line" - now I won't complain at all. If there's no formal finish line and I just quietly slip from the Cancer column to the Cancer-free column, that's fine by me. I just really want to be Cancer-free. And sooner rather than later.
Wish us luck. Will update as I can.
p.s. - my spell check isn't working correctly, so now you get to see how poorly I spell without help!
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